


stand on guard for thee

by queenofthestarrrs



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bitty Owns a Bakery, Domestic Fluff, Jack Plays Hockey, M/M, Near Future, Olympics, Worldbuilding, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 21:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13960701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthestarrrs/pseuds/queenofthestarrrs
Summary: Ironically, Bitty had just finished plating his butter tarts when Jack, all of his two hundred and twenty five pounds of sweaty and poorly dressed hockey player, comes busting through his door.





	stand on guard for thee

Ironically, Bitty had just finished plating his butter tarts when Jack, all of his two hundred and twenty five pounds of sweaty and poorly dressed hockey player, comes busting through his door. 

He loves days like these, when the chill of ocean air permeates his bones and the rising sun warms his face as he lets himself into the kitchen while the rest of his staff is still tucked in their beds. It’s the calmest part of his day. He puts the coffee on to drip and presses play on Beyonce’s newest album. Tidal is expensive, he grimaces, but it’s an investment that he just had to make. He tightly knots his apron around his waist in attempt to avoid ruining his sixth pair of Vineyard Vines shorts in a year. Eric carefully cuts the ice cold butter into cubes, drops them into a bowl, and places them back into the freezer. His hips sway along with the beat. He whisks the eggs, measures the dry ingredients, and starts the mixer. He smiles. 

It’s Alicia’s recipe because, well, of course it is. He found it just lying around in the office that Bad Bob and Alicia share the last time he visited Montreal, carefully tucked away with photos of Jack acting in an embarrassing primary school play and a business card from Bad Bob’s short lived career as a personal trainer. It’s grease stained and a little frayed around the edges. The pencil has faded away under years of constant use. Alicia, when pressed about it, mentions that it was Jack’s favorite recipe as a child. Bitty grins, the ghost of glee on his face, imagining a tiny Jack carefully kneading into the dough with his chubby little fingers. 

That’s how A & J’s Butter Tarts, hot and fresh, are hastily stacked into the display case just before the morning rush. They get a special spot, right among to Judy’s Jam Thumbprints, Suzanne’s Peach Cobbler, the Haus Special, and Coach’s Post-Practice Brownies. 

For all of his internet fame, Bittle’s Bakery, the very brick and mortar, is still small. It’s not exactly where he wanted to be post college. Sometimes the pang of envy hits him, hard. It’s hard to compete when your college friends went on to become professional athletes and corporate lawyers. It makes a home when he nods sympathetically as Lardo mentions she’s hasn’t had many orders during a tough month for her graphic design business. It snakes up his throat as he winces every time he has to write his employees a check, the sober reminder that, right now, he can only pay them minimum wage. At its cruelest, it guts him as he wonders if he could keep this place afloat if Jack didn’t offer to chip in with the mortgage every few months. 

But even on his darkest days, Bitty reminds himself of his sheer happiness. Eric Bittle is finally content with just being Eric Bittle. He is living his life, proud and joyful. Every night, he gets to share a bed with a man he loves more than life itself. Every day, he gets to do what he loves with people he loves. Julie, his barista, and Megan, his baker, are truly amazing people with just the right amount of sass and warmth to fall into a quick friendship. The reviews are promising. As one enthusiastic Providence reporter put it, “Eric takes you on a journey of geography, style, and deep personal meaning. He isn’t just a wonderful baker, he’s a gifted storyteller.” Jack has the review laminated and framed and puts it right next to the picture of him hoisting his Rookie of the Year trophy. There’s word that he might be tapped for a Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives appearance, and Bitty has to hide his enthusiasm at the idea of meeting Guy Fieri in person. 

And today, like most days, the store is on the verge of packed for the morning commute. Eric is working the register while Julie is hurrying to pour as many drinks as she can. An unusual snap of spring cold has put their hot chocolate in high demand, and Megan is already in the back whipping up another batch of homemade marshmallows to compete with the busy morning. Most customers wait patiently in line, browsing the pastry case or scrolling through the phone. A few students from Brown already have their laptops out, tapping at some homework or school project. It’s quiet work, but it’s fulfilling work. 

The bell that hangs above the door, a replica of the class bell at Samwell, practically whips around as Jack busts through the door. His playoff hair, longer than he normally keeps it, is slicked back into his Falconers cap. He practically throws his duffel bag onto the ground, and it nearly collides the cream and sugar station. Several students stop typing on their laptops, eyebrows cocked in annoyance. 

“Bits!” He exclaims. Jack is clearly out of breath, his chest rapidly falling and rising. His neon shoes have trekked in a fair amount of mud, leaving a perfect trail behind him. “I did it, I made it!” 

Megan, hustling with a bowl filled with fresh marshmallows, gives Jack a tight grimace. “You’re screaming again.” 

Bitty winces sympathetically. Meghan has a heart of gold and has stuck through the worst of times at the bakery. Jack is, well, Jack. Yet, despite their nearly identical personalities, the two of them rarely get along. His hands move deftly as he tucks a twenty dollar bill into the drawer and pushes a paper bag filled with pastry off to a customer. 

“Thank you, sir! Come back soon, you hear?” He wipes his hands on his apron and offers a smile to Meghan. She puts the empty bowl on the counter before playfully rolling her eyes and ducking back into the kitchen. If Bitty’s correct, which he usually is, there should be a fresh batch of doughnut dough that should be done proofing. “You did what, dear?” 

“I made it!” Jack’s voice is much softer this time. He has already picked up a paper cup from pile on the self serve coffee cart. He fills it to the brim with black decaf and takes a large gulp. His chest isn’t rising so rapidly, and Bitty is relatively pleased that Jack is following his therapist’s advice and staying away caffeine. “I’m the Olympic captain.” 

The breathe catches in Bitty’s throat. Captain. That had always been Jack’s dream. Even Bad Bob had never been chosen for captain; sure, he had his fair share of gold medals, but he was never captain.

Jack takes another sip. “I’m the captain, now. Like right now.” 

“Okay, sweetpea. You’re not staring opposite Tom Hanks. You don’t have to keep saying that you’re the captain now.” Bitty grabbed Jack’s hips, sturdy and strong beneath his palms. He looks up expectantly, waiting for Jack’s lips on his forehead. His eyes are swelling with tears he really didn’t intend when he made that first quip. “I am so proud of you. I am so beyond proud of you. You made it.” 

Bitty buried his face into his partner’s chest, and there was a sense of contentment that washed over him. He loved Jack with all of his heart, and the idea of Jack living out his dream was practically too much happiness bear. But Jack was also a reminder, a soft and gentle one, that all good things came with time. 

And, for once, it seemed like Bitty had all the time in the world.


End file.
